


Humanity Isn't Castiel's Thing

by babybluecas



Series: and so you fell [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, MOL Bunker, One Shot, Post Season 8, Pre-Slash, fallen!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:52:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybluecas/pseuds/babybluecas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks after his Fall, Cas finally reaches the Winchesters. He's dirty, tired and very human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humanity Isn't Castiel's Thing

“No offense, man, but you stink.”

Dean smirks at Cas, whose face is lined with smears of sweat and dust. His lips press into a thin line.

“You try sustaining your cleanliness and decent smell, while traveling hundreds of miles and sleeping on the streets,” he says, folding the dirty, blue jacket in his lap. “I learned to use a washing machine, though,” he boasts like it means anything. And by the look of it, it doesn’t. Not when he didn’t have any change to feed a laundromat. Or himself.

“Good for you,” Dean says amused and stands up, giving Cas a sign to follow him. “I’ll show you to the bathroom.”

He winces at the sight of Cas leaving the outer layers of his hobo attire on the chair, because he was only partially kidding about the smell. But he doesn’t say anything about it as he leads Cas through the dim corridor to the vast room, brightly lit with electric light. It has everything a bathroom revamped in early 50s should have. And more, because a shower and a bathtub in one bathroom provides more luxury Dean’s ever had in his life. And this particular bathtub is, in Dean’s opinion, luxurious as fuck.

“Where’s the washing machine?” Dean turns to glance at Cas, not sure whether it was his deadpan humor showing or if the guy’s really looking for an automatic washer in a post-war bunker.

On the other hand, with all the advanced technology stored here, one could expect to, at least, have a way to wash some clothes. Or for two morons living there for almost a year to acquire it.

“Okay, so here’s your towel.” Dean pulls out a big, green cloth from a drawer and hands it to him, ignoring the question. “In the meantime, I’ll go to the store and grab stuff for you.”

“Stuff?” Cas echoes curiously, staring at his filthy palms wrapped around the pale green, at the dirt and blood under his fingernails. He can’t render himself clean at will anymore. He can’t fix his ripped clothes. Nor can he heal his wounds and bruises, the scratch under his eye or even the papercut on his thumb he keeps rubbing at.

“Yeah, stuff. Like a toothbrush, for one thing. Or a razor, so you can get rid of this peach fuzz of yours.”

Cas glances around the bathroom. He looks so fucking lost, with his bare arms and a green t-shirt that doesn’t suit him well. With beard that at some point got completely out of control and matted hair, in need of trimming, falling into his red-rimmed eyes.

“Alright,” he answers, distracted.

Dean doesn’t take his eyes of Cas’s back for a second, as the man inspects the white curtain briefly, before spreading it to peek into a shower. He looks around in search of a hook to hang the towel on, but with no luck. Eventually, he decides to throw the towel over the railing and proceeds to take his boots and smelly socks off.

“So, there’s my shampoo,” Dean comes closer to stand right behind him, “and there’s Sam’s so it’s probably with some lotion that’ll make your hair smooth and shiny.” He smiles at the sound of Cas’s chuckle. “Take whatever you need. You can read, so you’ll be fine. I’m sure as an angel you watched people shower once or twice.”

“Uh–”

“No, don’t tell me,” Dean retreats quickly and changes the topic. “I’ll bring you some clothes.”

He turns away to leave and before he can bite his tongue he throws a light joke, he regrets the next second.

“Let me know if you want me to wash your back.”

“Dean,” Cas stops him and Dean’s eyes grow in panic, as he turns around.

“I was joking, Cas,” he explains, embarrassed.

“Dean,” Cas repeats and his expression clearly indicates that he didn’t even consider Dean’s offer for a second. “Thank you,” he says instead, with a sincere gratitude in his voice and his eyes staring right into Dean’s.

Dean has missed those eyes and the intensity of that stare. For weeks he fought the thought that he’d never see them again.

Again.

With every time that Cas had disappeared, it was harder to believe he’d come back, but at the same time it was harder to accept that he wouldn’t. Dean knows that one day Cas may be gone for good, yet he’ll still be waiting for him to come home. Because Cas always comes back to him.

That’s why when Dean saw Cas standing at the Bat Cave’s door earlier today – dirty, hopeless and so incredibly human – for a second he allowed himself to hope that maybe this time he’d stay. It scared him, the first thought that passed through his mind, because it was so wrong, but for just a moment he felt the happiness rush through his body, when a tiny voice in his head whispered: “He’s human, he can’t disappear, he can’t go away.”

He curses himself for that thought now, looking at Cas, thinking about how humanity has treated him in those first few weeks. Ill-fitting, like his old trenchcoat that is now gone; hardening, like the blisters that bloomed on his feet from walking; humiliating, like homelessness and hunger.

Humanity surely isn’t Castiel’s thing.

“Cas, are you okay?” Dean speaks finally, breaking the awkward silence when neither of them moved.

“Yes, Dean. I told you I’m fine,” Cas answers quickly.

“Not what I meant.” He passes the distance across the tiled floor, to get back close to him and spreads his arms encouragingly. “Will you be okay?”

It’s like an echo of that conversation almost a year ago, only this time Dean is not gonna let anyone disturb them. After what he heard then –  _ I’m afraid I might kill myself _ – how could he have let him go?

“Yeah, I-“ He doesn’t look at Dean, he chooses to stare at his fingers instead. The lie couldn’t be more obvious. “I will.”

Dean’s not taking his bullshit. Not now, not anymore. He’s close enough to reach to his hairy chin and gently force Cas to look him in the eye.

“I’m just tired.” It sounds like an excuse and Dean knows he’s about to back away.

“Just talk to me,” he pleads, fully aware of the ridiculousness of holding such serious conversation in the bathroom.

“Dean, I’m tired. I just want to take a shower and go to sleep.”

Cas sounds resigned, but to Dean’s surprise he doesn’t say no, he doesn’t turn away. Instead, he lets the toilet lid down to have something to sit on and doesn’t raise his eyes to Dean’s. But this time it’s not because of dishonesty.

“I’m tired and it irritates me,” he starts slowly, ”I am covered in my own sweat. I have to eat and for the past few weeks I’ve been walking around constantly hungry and I can only hope to never experience it again. I need to urinate regularly, I need to sleep and most of the time I shiver from cold, no matter how many layers I put on.”

Dean exhales slowly, taking in the fallen angel’s confession. He should have expected it would be those small things, those seemingly insignificant things, that would break Cas from the get go. Even when it’s bad, it’s easier to push through when you’re accustomed to all the shitty needs and inconveniences of being a human from the very beginning. Castiel the Angel never had to worry about pooping and exhaustion.

And there’s still so much more that’s to come for him, more crushing, more painful. Which one will be the final straw?

“I’m sorry, Cas.” That’s all Dean has to offer, except for the comforting touch of his palm on Cas’s knee.

“And the worst part is,” he continues and his voice cracks, “that I know it won’t ever go away.”

There’s a glimmer in Cas’s eye when he glances at Dean. He wipes it off, smearing dirt along his cheekbone. He takes in the air slowly, trying to regain his composure to sound at least a bit convincing when he speaks again.

“But like I said: I’ll be fine,” he assures Dean. “Eventually.”

Despite the shift in Cas’s body that indicates this conversation is over, Dean doesn’t take his hand off Cas’s knee. He shuffles through the words in his head, trying to find the right ones, ones that could fix things for Cas or at least make him a little bit better. There’s nothing, because what the hell do you even say to all that? But he has to try, even if all he can offer is some utter cliché crap.

“Alright, listen to me,” he starts and waits for Cas’s attention. “I can’t tell you it will go away, because it won’t. What I can promise you is that you’ll get used to all of it. It’ll be a pain in the ass and it will take time, but we, humans, are a resilient bunch of sons of bitches and so are you.”

When he’s finished, neither of them moves. Cas hardly seems touched by Dean’s pep talk, like he didn’t even hear it. His resigned eyes, though still fixed on Dean’s, seek escape.

The urge to grab Cas, pull him into a tight, comforting hug and let the actions speak better for him than words can, nags Dean, but he fights it well. He knows he couldn’t trust himself with the warmth of Cas’s new, fragile body in his arms.

Long seconds pass before Cas opens his mouth again.

“Yeah, okay,” he mutters, not so much dismissive as disheartened.

He doesn’t look at Dean anymore. Apparently, the pattern on the opposite wall is more absorbing, and so is the golden ornament on the bathtub’s edge. Dean’s palm gets heavier and heavier, until he has to withdraw it. He clears his throat.

“Uh, I guess I’ll go get those clothes for you now,” Dean mumbles, gracelessly backing away from Cas’s personal bubble.

“Yeah, Dean, do that.” He seems to be in complete control of his voice and emotions again and the next second he finds shampoo’s label to be the most interesting thing ever.

Cas is already in the shower, when Dean comes back carrying his own pair of jeans, a t-shirt and an unused pair of boxers. Certain that Cas can’t hear him over the flush of water, he enters the bathroom to leave the clothes on the countertop. He smiles to himself, when he realizes that Cas is humming some melody Dean can’t recognize. For a moment, he wonders where Cas learned it. Maybe it’s some remnant of the angel frequency or maybe he heard it somewhere on the radio during his hitchhike trip home. Maybe he picked it up in the homeless camp he told them about.

But it isn’t important what song it is; singing in the shower is such a human thing to do and one of the nicest, little, human things for that matter. Tiny pleasures. Dean swears to himself, he’ll teach Cas to appreciate each one of them. Then, maybe, as long as there’ll be the good stuff to balance its burden, humanity will give Cas a chance?   
  



End file.
